


The Harder the Rain, Honey, the Sweeter the Sun

by serenityandstartdust



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: (mostly but also there's some plot), But also, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 03, field trip time y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityandstartdust/pseuds/serenityandstartdust
Summary: A few months after defeating the pagans, Marie takes a trip back to New Orleans and Zelda goes with her. However, there's someone lurking in the shadows...
Relationships: Edward Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	1. Goodnight, Travel Well

**Author's Note:**

> Is the title a Hozier song? Yes but this title chapter is from the killers  
> note: pretend that the scene where Zelda is mad about Hilda getting married didn't happen cause I hate it.

“Ambrose,” Sabrina hissed, creeping into the morgue. “Ambrose!” 

“I’m awake.” Ambrose jolted in his chair at the desk. “Yes, cos, what is it?” 

“Ambrose, we have a problem,” Sabrina hissed, looking over her shoulder at the stairs. “The other Sabrina is coming.” 

“The—the other Sabrina? The one in Hell? The one who’s ruling Hell?” 

Sabrina sighed. “Yes, Ambrose, that other Sabrina.” 

“Why? It’s been nearly two months. What does she want?” 

“I don’t know,” Sabrina exclaimed, “she just astral projected into my room last night and said that she’s coming here Friday at midnight.” 

“How long will she stay? Will she stay here? With—with all of us?” Ambrose rubbed his face, glancing behind Sabrina to check that the stairs were still empty. 

“I think so.”

“What are you going to do, Cos? The aunties will be furious that you kept this from them. Again.” 

“I don’t know, Ambrose,” she sighed. “We’re going to have to try to get them out of the house somehow. Maybe—maybe we could convince Aunt Hilda to stay with Dr. Cee?” 

“Aunt Hilda, maybe,” Ambrose said, rubbing his face again, “but Auntie Zee isn’t just going to leave the house for the weekend without a very good reason.” 

Sabrina slumped against the desk. “I know. I guess we’ll just have to deal with it when it happens?” 

Ambrose scoffed. “You can deal with it. I prefer to keep my head.”  
\--  
“Zelda, are you sure about that one?” Marie asked.

Zelda looked at the spice jar in her hand, the pot boiling in front of her, and the faded recipe book, all with suspicion. Then, she turned to face Marie, who was sitting at the table behind her. 

“Why wouldn’t I be sure about,” Zelda inspected the jar, “ground thyme?” 

Marie took a sip of her tea, almost as if she was trying to hide a smile.  
“It’s just that you have already added fresh thyme, ma cherie, almost a cup of it, so I thought any more might be,” she shrugged elegantly, “unwise, no?”

“Hmm. Perhaps,” Zelda conceded with as much dignity as she could, setting the jar back on the table. 

This was turning into somewhat of a disaster. Marie had made the most amazing dinner for her the previous week, and Zelda had sleepily—really, she’d mostly been sleeping talking—promised that she would cook for Marie sometime. Unfortunately, with the students exploring independent projects at the Academy over break and no imminent apocalyses, the opportunity for them to have dinner together had arisen far too quickly. 

Once, this wouldn’t have been a problem, she thought, looking at the dismal mess in the pot. She used to know how to cook, but of late she’d mostly just stirred and chopped for Hilda’s recipes and enjoyed the results. 

She purposefully reached for one of the other spice jars. Garlic salt, maybe? She shook it over the pot, stirred it, and added some more. 

“Zelda—” Marie began. 

“Really, Marie, I do know what I’m doing,” she said defensively. 

“Zelda,” Marie said again, a smile obvious in her voice, even though Zelda was still turned to the stove.

“Marie,” She replied sarcastically.

Suddenly Marie was close behind her, her breath warm on the back of Zelda’s neck. “Zelda.”

Zelda turned and leaned back against the stove, her face an inch from Marie’s. “Marie,” she whispered, her heart racing. 

Marie’s smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss Zelda, one hand in Zelda’s hair and the other at her waist. After a few too-short kisses, Marie spun Zelda and pressed her against the table She shifted her hips and hopped to sit more comfortably on the table, startling Marie.

Marie laughed against her mouth, and Zelda’s heart thrilled at the sound. She pulled Marie closer to taste it. 

Before events could progress the way she wanted them to—a sequence of events where they found their way into her bedroom, away from the mess of the stove—she heard Ambrose call. 

“Aunties, what is that smell? Is something burning?”

Marie waited until the footsteps had reached the very top of the stairs, then pulled back regretfully. Zelda slipped off the table, straightening her blouse to a semblance of respectability as Ambrose walked into the kitchen, followed by Sabrina. 

“You’re not cooking, are you, Auntie Zee?” Sabrina asked.

Thankfully that was the detail Sabrina had chosen to focus on, rather than the position that she and Marie had just been in. “And what if I am?”

“May the Mother of all preserve us,” Ambrose muttered with his usual melodrama. “And wherever is Aunt Hilda? You’re not cooking without her, are you?”

“Here I am!” Hilda called from the entryway, cutting off Zelda’s scathing response. “Oh, what’s all this, loves? Is someone making dinner?” 

“I was making dinner, Hilda.” Zelda replied. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?” 

“No, of course not.” Hilda shot a glance at Ambrose, who immediately looked away, covering his grin with his hand. “What is— ah,” she peered into the pot and backed right away again. “What are you- what are you cooking?” 

“Bouillabaisse! It will be absolutely delightful when I’m done with it,” Zelda said.

Clearly it wouldn’t be the best thing she’d ever made, but she was convinced it would at least be good. Possibly she’d settle for edible at this point. She glanced around, daring any one of them to argue with her. Of course, it was Sabrina who responded.

“Can’t we just order pizza?” Sabrina said.

“Oh, pizza sounds delightful, Cherie.” Marie agreed, turning one of her bright smiles on Zelda.

“Well I suppose pizza could be acceptable,” she said in response to Marie’s smile, “but I shall be cooking a perfectly pleasant dinner for us all on Friday, once I have located a legible recipe.”

She threw a look at Hilda to punctuate her comment. She wouldn’t have been able to go so wrong had Hilda’s handwriting ever progressed past a third grade level. 

“Ah, no, but I will not be here this Friday,” Marie said with dismay. 

Zelda felt a strange flutter in her stomach. Marie, gone? It seemed impossible to her that a few short months ago, she had lived a life without Marie by her side. Now, the thought of her gone was unacceptable. 

“What do you mean, you won’t be here? Where are you going?” That strange flutter in her stomach had tightened her throat and made her voice sharper than she’d meant and she regretted it immediately, she tried so hard these days to keep her temper in line.

“Do not worry yourself, mon coeur,” Marie replied, reaching out to hold one of Zelda’s hands in hers.  
“I am going back to New Orleans for a few days. I have been speaking with a young couple from my communaute, and they are willing to take over my shop if I meet with them at the end of this week, and… ” Her eyes softened on Zelda’s. “I had hoped to ask if you would come with me” 

The flutter was replaced with soft warmth, spreading from Marie’s hand to Zelda’s. “Oh. Well then.” 

“Auntie Zee! That sounds like a great time!” Sabrina exclaimed. 

“Yes,” Ambrose said, “a weekend in New Orleans? That sounds like just the sort of thing you need after this year we’ve had.” 

Zelda looked past Marie to narrow her eyes at the two of them. It was always suspicious when they acted in such harmony, especially when conspiring to get her out of the house. 

“Well, it does sound lovely,” she said, still holding Marie’s hands. “But I don’t see how I could possibly leave the coven. We’re still so vulnerable and we-” 

“Oh, nonsense, love,” Hilda chimed in, “it’ll just be a few days. We’ll be fine. It’s summertime, anyways, you should take a break!” 

“This weekend, though? Hilda, I—” her voice cracked, but she plowed on. “Isn’t the fitting for your wedding dress this weekend? I rather thought I’d be there for that.”

It was ridiculous, really, how much Hilda brightened at that. “Really, Zelds, that’s so sweet. I can’t—” 

“ Oh don’t blather on sister. I just want to make sure you have some sort of presentable colour scheme.” 

“Of course,” Hilda said knowingly. “We’ll be able to move the fitting, I’m sure. Wouldn’t want you to miss that.” 

Well, then. There was surely something else she needed to do that she was missing. Ambrose and Sabrina seemed to be up to something, Prudence had been distracted and angry of late, and of course all of the other students had their projects. And of course she had to do more research on Hecate and their new faith. Not to mention neglecting the strange silence from Lucifer, Lillith, and Hell was completely out of the question. 

It would be entirely antithetical to her nature to actually take a vacation during such a time, but… the idea was alluring: a whole weekend without having to worry about anything, all her responsibilities lifted from her shoulders. Having Marie to herself, if only for a few days, wandering a city together— no students or sisters or hedge witches to burst in on them—was also a tempting possibility. And, well, it would make Marie happy. 

“Well, then,” she smiled at Marie, “a trip to New Orleans sounds delightful.”  
\--  
The noise of the plane engines was deafening. It throbbed in her skull and grated her teeth against each other, making coherent thought a nightmare. It was crowded as well. There were so many people all around her, so many strangers. It was storming outside of the plane, and the lights were so dim that she could hardly see, yet there was something familiar about the man in one of the rows ahead of her. Her eyes were drawn to him. He looked, he looked like—then he turned. 

“Edward,” she breathed. But that was impossible! She shouted, “Edward! I’m here!” 

She tried to stand, stumbling over the woman next to her and into the aisle. Thunder cracked so close to the plane that she felt in her heart. 

“Edward!” Desperately, she reached for Edward’s shoulder. She had to warn him. They had to get away. “Edward, look at me!” 

The instant she brushed his shoulder, his eyes, exact mirrors of her own, snapped up to her, staring blankly. She gasped and turbulence jolted her away. Looking back over the seats she saw that she’d been wrong. The plane wasn’t filled with strangers. It was filled with her family—not just Edward and Diana, but Sabrina, Hilda, and Ambrose and his father, her long dead parents and grandparents, all looking at her. She stumbled back, snatching at the seat in front of her for balance, and the woman sitting in it turned to face her. Marie’s face, more dead than it had ever been, stared blankly at her. 

She felt herself screaming, but it was as if she was outside her body, silently being crushed with horror at the faces around her. She knew what was coming. The lightning struck again outside the plane, louder and louder, closer and closer, and the rain pounded relentlessly against the windows. Even then, above it all, she thought she could hear someone calling her name. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t wake up until the lightning struck the plane. 

The sudden freedom in her lungs was as abrupt as coming up from underwater and as shocking as her soul slamming back into her body after astral projecting. Her heart finally started beating again. Her vision spun and wheeled, what little she could see in the dark of her bedroom. 

The only thing she really knew for sure was that Marie was next to her, shaking her shoulder. It was Marie’s voice, she realised dimly, that she’d heard in her dream, calling her back. Of course it was, she laughed to herself, who else would it be? 

“Zelda? Zelda, ma cherie, réveillez-vous, je supplie reviens pour moi!” Zelda my dear, wake up, I beg you, come back to me.Marie had slipped back into flowing New Orleans French. It was one of Zelda’s favourite sounds, though she only heard it when Marie was very tired or very worried. 

“Zelda, reviens pour moi” Come back to me. Hearing the panic in her voice, Zelda finally managed to raise her hand and grasp Marie’s wrist.

“Calmez-vous, Marie, c’est bon mon amour,”Calm yourself Marie, it’s alright my love. she whispered back. “I’m awake. I’m fine, it was just a nightmare.”  
Marie sighed and slumped back down, turning so that she and Zelda were lying in bed, face to face in the dark.

“You scared me, my love,” Marie said, after a moment, slipping back to English. “You were crying out in your sleep, thrashing about.”

The thought of Marie afraid of her, of accidentally hurting Marie, even in her sleep, stabbed at Zelda.

“I’m truly sorry, Marie,” she said “I wouldn’t ever, I-” The words caught in her throat. She swallowed. 

“I’m sorry,” she began again “I’m so sorry I scared you, but you must know, I would never, I could never hurt you, I swear, I-” 

Marie startled her with a small wry laugh, cutting Zelda off mid-sentence. 

“You misunderstand, me cherie” Marie said. “I was not afraid of you, I was afraid for you, comprenez-vous?”

Zelda breathed out a small sigh of relief and closed her eyes. She was always so happy and calm when Marie was around, but the threat of losing control was always lurking on the back of her mind. 

“Zelda, look at me” Marie commanded quietly, placing a cool hand on Zelda’s cheek. Zelda opened her eyes to meet Marie’s. In the dark they were black but she could clearly recall their usual rich brown colour.

“You need not worry about hurting me,” Marie continued “I am not made of glass, and you will not scare me away.” 

It was so odd to have her fears, even the ones she hadn’t allowed herself to say, addressed so completely. Zelda had never met anyone in her long life with such a skill at diffusing tension and fears as Marie. She smiled, despite the darkness and the weight of the dream on her soul.

“Je comprende. I understand.” 

“Good” Marie said. Zelda could tell from her voice that she was smiling too. They lay in silence for a few soft seconds before Marie spoke again.

“Would you tell me about your dream, Cherie? I do not want to pry, but...” she trailed off for a moment. “If you are having such dreams, there is something weighing very heavily on your soul, and I would share that burden if I could.” 

“I can handle it myself,” Zelda said reflexively.

“I’m sure” Marie responded, It sounded to Zelda almost as if she was smiling again “But you needn’t.” 

Zelda reached for Marie’s hand, which still rested on her face, and laced their fingers together. Before she spoke, she brought their joined hands to her chest, so she and Marie could feel her heart still pounding from the dream. 

“I had a dream about Edward,” she said quietly, eyes closed. Opening her soul like this was unfamiliar, but the cool pressure of Marie’s hand on her heart helped. 

“Your met-tet?” 

“No. No, he wasn’t really there. It was just a memory.” She opened her eyes to the dark. “Not an actual memory, just one I imagined.” 

“A memory of Edward?”

“A nightmare of him. It was...on a plane. Flying somewhere, to Italy or perhaps to New Orleans and I caught sight of Edward and I tried to warn him, but he—he couldn’t hear, and I just kept calling to him, but he couldn’t hear me, and then...” She took a shuddering breath. Her heart was pounding in her ears, so loud that Marie must have surely heard it as well. 

“And then I looked around the plane, I think, or I fell, and— and everyone was there. Hilda and Sabrina and Ambrose, Ambrose's father and our parents, and you.”

Her voice rose and fell as she spoke, breaking so often that she sounded like some sort of sobbing child, but she knew Marie had heard the last word because of the way her hand tightened on Zelda’s. 

“Everyone I’ve ever...everyone was there, but it was Edward’s plane, of course—his and Diana’s plane to Italy—so we all died, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.” 

Out in the air, it felt empty and pathetic. Edward had been dead for nearly twenty years now, and of course Marie and everyone else were completely fine. She was worrying about nothing. 

“Ma cherie,” Marie said softly, stroking her thumb across Zelda’s tearstained cheek. 

“It’s fine,” Zelda said. She’d meant to sound firm, but her voice cracked. “I’m fine,” she tried again. “It’s just a dream.” 

Zelda didn’t think she could bear whatever it was Marie was about to say, as it certainly would’ve come too close to pity. But rather than saying anything, Marie turned slightly on her side and reached over, wrapping her arms around Zelda and pulling them together, so that Zelda’s head rested on Marie’s chest. They lay like this for a long moment before Marie said anything. When she did Zelda could hear her musical voice vibrating in her chest before the words reached her ears. 

“What was Edward like?” Marie asked. 

“What do you mean, what was he like?”

“You have told me some things about him as an adult, but when you were small, what was he like?” 

“Oh.” It had been a long time since she had thought about Edward as a child, though when Sabrina was younger she had often reminded Zelda of a younger Edward. Searching for a solid memory, she smiled against Marie’s chest when she found one.

“Well, once, when he and I were young—he was perhaps ten, and I was maybe eight or—no, I think he must have been nine, and I was six or seven because I don’t think Hilda was there—he and I were in our lessons—we had a tutor at the house when we were younger and—” 

She broke off, struggling to hold back a laugh, “he—our tutor—liked to teach while looking at the window, so he wasn’t looking at us, and somehow—I still don’t know how, it was such strong magic for a child—Edward enchanted our inkwells to answer our questions for us, and we...” 

The memory swept her along as she spoke, incredibly vivid. “We snuck out of the parlour and into the woods to the river, I think-Yes, we went to the kitchen first and stole some sausages- and we went down to Sweetwater river to try and summon a river dragon.” 

“Mon dieu,” Marie gasped. Zelda could feel that Marie was also trying to restrain laughter. “And did you succeed?” 

“No, of course not!” Zelda said. “We were so young! We knew nothing of what a demon was! The only actual thing we succeeded in summoning was a cold for the both of us, as well as a week’s worth of extra lessons for our trouble.” 

Edward’s earnest little face and their mother’s reproving expression played across the back of her eyelids. “I just wish we could’ve seen our tutor’s face when he realised what we’d done. I’m sure it was marvelous.”

She knew what Marie was doing: trying to distract her from her dream by asking about Edward. It was an obvious ploy, one she usually thought weak. If one was upset about something one should confront it, not dwell on the past, but with Marie...well, there wasn’t any real harm in it.

“Oh, so you were little rascals, yes?” Marie said, shaking with laughter against Zelda. 

“We were demons,” Zelda said fervently, “even Hilda, if you can believe it.” 

“Non, I do not think I can.” Marie said with mock seriousness.

“Hmmm,” Zelda replied. “I know what you’re trying to do by the way”

“Oh, yes?” 

“Oh, yes, but I don’t think it will work,” Zelda said, her voice muffled since her face was still pressed against Marie’s chest

“Well, perhaps you should tell me another story, just in case.” 

“Perhaps,” Zelda said.  
“This house has a strange number of scorch marks on the furniture, you know, and I do not think that you are solely responsible.” 

“Hardly!” Zelda scoffed “most of those were Hilda.” 

“C’est impossible,” Marie said. “She is not half so fiery as you.” 

“Well, obviously not.”

She fell silent, thinking, not about Edward, but about Marie. She couldn’t remember ever feeling cared for like this, so completely, without also feeling suffocated. Even now a tiny part of her was screaming to lash out, to hide and run away, reminding her that the only possible outcome of this was heartbreak. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the steady beat of Marie’s heart. 

“I think it worked,” she whispered, when she was certain Marie was asleep.

“Oui belle?” Or almost certain. She herself certainly wouldn’t have been able to lie so still for so long without saying something. 

“I think it worked.” she said again, just loud enough for Marie to hear.

“I’m glad,” Marie said sleepily, running a slow hand through Zelda’s hair. Zelda made a small sound of pleasure and snuggled closer to Marie, allowing her exhaustion to wash over her. Whatever Marie thought, Zelda knew that it wasn’t the stories of Edward that had chased away her dream. She’d had that dream, or one like it, every time she traveled since Edward died, and talking about Edward with Hilda or Ambrose had never helped matters. No, it wasn’t the memories that had driven away her fears; it was Marie.


	2. I think about you though, everywhere I go

The first thing Zelda thought when they teleported into New Orleans was that she’d been home too long. When she was young, she had travelled for months at a time, often spending years at a time away from Greendale, wandering the world. Even when Edward had become High Priest and she and Hilda had taken over the mortuary, she’d spent at least a month out of the year visiting old friends and watching the world change. Of course, that had ended as soon as Edward died. She hadn’t left Greendale since that night, not until her ill-fated honeymoon. 

Greendale would always be her home, of course. The sprawling forests and mines were as familiar to her as her own body, and the cold winters and foggy nights had seeped into her very bones, which she knew would someday rest in the graveyard of the Spellman Mortuary. But she wasn’t dead yet, and the warm breeze that lifted her hair smelled like freedom and the woman she used to be. 

Marie’s hands tightened on her own. They had hit the ground hard, and now they stumbled apart, trying not to fall over the large suitcase Zelda had packed, which lay between them. When Zelda finally found her footing by falling backwards into a tree, she met Marie’s eyes, and they both broke into laughter. 

“Oh Marie,” she laughed. “It’s beautiful here in this… park? Is this a graveyard?”

Long distance teleportation could often go awry, and it was customary to find a secluded spot to allow for mistakes, but she’d expected a forest, or perhaps a quiet riverfront. 

“Of course, ma fleur, where else would you find a witch?” 

“Oh, very clever,” Zelda said in a close imitation of the scathing tone she normally reserved for such remarks. “Where are we going now? Someone as well dressed as you certainly doesn’t live in a graveyard.”

Marie smiled at the compliment. “Now we will go to my shop and put our things down. Then we will get lunch, and then we shall enjoy ourselves.” 

“Well, that sounds nice,” Zelda said, and stretched her hands across the suitcase to Marie’s, so that they could teleport together. 

“No, no, ma cherie, you need to see the city! We shall be taking a cab.” 

She smiled brightly over Zelda’s protests about efficiency, time, sharing personal space with strangers, and having to lug an oversized suitcase around. Marie handled the last complaint by deftly snatching the suitcase from the ground and placing it in the trunk of the cab before Zelda could grab it back, and Zelda grudgingly allowed herself to be shepherded into the cab. 

The ride was actually lovely. The cab smelled, of course, as they all did, and she still would have rather teleported, but it was charming to see the city like this. Marie pointed out a new landmark or a remembered spot on every street. Even if the city hadn’t been as beautiful and oddly charming as it was, Zelda would have enjoyed the ride anyway, simply for how happy it made Marie. 

The shop was small, yet Marie had managed to pack it to the brim with odd and interesting objects, some of which were clearly just trinkets for tourists while others radiated clear magical power. 

“Well, this is fun,” she laughed, waving her hand through a beaded curtain threaded with bird bones and feathers rather than beads. 

“Oh, do you like it, Cherie?” Marie said from the door, still fiddling with the key stuck in the lock. “Most of the tourists think it’s too scary.” 

“Naturally” Zelda said, dropping her suitcase to the floor and walking behind on the tables to inspect a number of brightly coloured candles, all labelled with different words in what appeared to be Haitian Creole, and a number of interesting glass jars.

“Like what you see?” Marie said in her ear.

Zelda jumped and turned to find Marie standing behind her with an admittedly adorable smirk on her face. 

“Always,” Zelda replied, looking Marie up and down and smirking back. 

Marie laughed and grabbed Zelda’s suitcase from the floor as Zelda reached for it. “Come, you should see my apartment, it is not so,” she waved a hand in the air, “c’est non tellement faux comme ca. It is not for the tourists.” 

Zelda followed her up the narrow stairs, which were lined with portraits and lithographs of different people. Some of them she recognised as Loa, the intermediaries of Voudu that Marie had told her about, but some were clearly Catholic saints. 

At the top of the stairs, Marie gently set down Zelda’s suitcase and unlocked the door, then pushed the door open wide. 

Stepping inside the apartment, Zelda was immediately overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu. 

Marie’s apartment reminded Zelda of her own home in the mortuary, though it was cluttered with brightly coloured scarves, wall hangings and paintings, lamps, candles, various paraphernalia fighting for space, and a number of slightly dead plants. Not as the mortuary truly was, though, she realised as she moved further into the apartment. No, the real mortuary was dark, tending to deep colours and cool shadows. Marie’s apartment was like the mortuary of the Nether Realm she had visited with Edward and Hilda, full of light and colour. 

“Oh Marie,” she said, turning to face her, “this is lovely.” 

A wide smile split Marie’s face. “I am glad you like it, Cherie. I am glad to see it has not fared too poorly in my absence, though our green friends are somewhat worse for the wear.” 

She stepped past Zelda to a spider plant that dangled off a bookshelf and brushed her hands along it, chanting a spell in French that Zelda couldn’t quite catch. Slowly, as Marie moved on to the other plants, the little spider plant righted itself, turning from brown to a healthy vibrant green at Marie’s touch. 

“The bedroom is through there,” Marie said from the small balcony, where a number of plants had survived or were in the process of coming back to life. She gestured to a small hallway on Zelda’s right.

“If you want to leave your suitcase in there, we can go get lunch.” 

The bedroom was as lovely as the rest of the apartment, with bright windows that opened onto a small garden plot behind Marie’s store. Zelda set her suitcase on the trunk at the foot of the bed and opened it. She’d hardly been in the city for half an hour, but already the heat had laid heavy strips of sweat across her skin. She was wearing a shirt of fairly light material, but true to form it was high necked with long sleeves, and she was much too hot.  
Digging through the suitcase, she found what she was looking for: a sleeveless button down shirt in light green silk. It was one of her old favorites, Hilda had made it for her as a birthday gift in 1951, when she’d been spending time in Brazil. She slipped it on It matched the grey skirt she was wearing wonderfully. She replaced her high heels with slightly heeled flats, more suitable for a day wandering the city. Leaving the bedroom, she passed a small side room. 

Peering in, she was surprised by what she saw and stepped fully into the room. It was a small altar, a converted bureau perhaps. A large painting, done in grayscale with gold leaf details, of a woman with two scars on her cheek and a small child on her lap, dominated the centre of the altar. The painting was surrounded by a number of candles and gold rings, as well as a rosary. 

“Ah, there you are, Cherie,” Marie said from behind her. “I see you have been sneaking” 

“Well, the door was open,” Zelda shot back, but without any heat. “Who is this?” she asked, looking back to the altar. 

“This is Ezrulie Dantor,” Marie replied, standing at her shoulder to gaze at the altar alongside Zelda, “a Loa. She is often seen as a protectress of women and children. Not unlike you, ma cherie.” 

Zelda smiled, even though Marie couldn’t see it. “Marvelous.” 

“Lunch?” Marie asked, taking one of Zelda’s hands in her own and spinning her around so they were eye to eye. 

“Lunch sounds splendid.”

Naturally, it was splendid. They went to a little cafe in the French quarter that served the best espresso Zelda had had since Milan in the 19th century. After lunch, they strolled around the city, arm in arm in the crush of people that crowded the main streets, and hand in hand on the smaller side streets. As evening fell, they made their way back to the Fourth ward, to the house of the couple that would take over Marie’s shop. 

It was as they were drawing close to the house that Zelda became sure that there was someone following them. It was something she had sensed more than truly known throughout the day. It had been the feeling of eyes on her on the main streets—not entirely unusual, as she’d long since become used to the stares when she went somewhere new. Women who cut a figure such as hers, particularly ones with hair as red as hellfire and a cigarette holder in hand were few and far between, but this had gone beyond that sort of casual perusal. The feeling had followed her into the smaller side streets and landmarks they’d visited, and now on this quiet residential street. She was certain it wasn’t just her imagination. 

As they rounded a corner she caught sight of him. A man of average height and build, light brown skin and hair, was walking perhaps ten yards behind them. When Zelda turned to look over her shoulder, she caught his eye on her. He looked away immediately, but the recognition and some other strong emotion had been clear in his single furtive look. 

“Marie,” she said sharply, pulling the woman beside her to a stop “Marie, look.” 

Marie, startled by Zelda’s suddenly tight grip on her hand, turned back to her “What is it?” 

“That man there, he’s…” But the man was gone, in the half second she had turned to Marie he had disappeared. “There was a man there, following us, I saw him earlier too, when we were at that bookshop. I’m certain he was waiting for us outside.” 

Marie surveyed the street closely, holding Zelda’s hand with a firm grip. The sun had only just sunk beneath the horizon, but the street was already littered with deep shadows. Usually, Zelda feared nothing from the darkness, but the feeling of being watched was inescapable. After a long moment, Marie turned back to her with a rueful shrug.

“I do not see anything, Cherie, but I-” 

“He was just there, I swear, I don’t know where—” Zelda interrupted. 

“But I believe you,” Marie said, finishing her sentence with a smile. “I believe that you saw this man, but we do not see him now, so he is not a threat we can deal with right now, vrai?”

There was truth in what Marie said, but after everything they had been through in the past few months—for the past 16 years—she wasn’t just going to dismiss someone following them. Catching sight of her face Marie continued. 

“We are two witches, no? Two powerful witches, if I do say so myself. Whoever this man is, even if he is one of those foul Judas Boys which that man Blackwood employed, we will be safe. Who could stand against us?” 

Despite the anxiety in her heart, Zelda allowed a small smile to creep across her face. 

“All true, I suppose. I would have likely recognised any of the Judas boys, though,” she mused, setting off again down the street. “And he did not have the feel of a witch. He seemed mortal.” she finished, casting a final glance over her shoulder. 

“Hmmm,” Zelda saw from the corner of her eye that Marie was looking behind them, down the seemingly empty street. “Well, mortal or no, let me know if you see him again, oui cherie? It would not do to have this hanging over us for the whole trip.” 

“Sûrement,” Zelda replied, interlocking her arm with Marie’s.   
\--  
Draining the last sip of her whiskey, Zelda leaned back in her chair and regarded Marie with a smile. The other woman was sitting on the arm of the loveseat that they had originally been sharing. Marie was in the middle of a passionate story, during which she had stood and sat back down several times to illustrate different points. Zelda wasn’t sure what she was talking about, precisely. Though they had started the evening in English, much of dinner had taken place in a fluid mix of English and French. However, when more complex conversations about their community and happenings since Marie’s departure from New Orleans came up, Marie, Mathilde, and Alexandre mostly conversed in Haitian Creole, which Zelda had never learned.

She had picked up a few phrases from Marie, and earlier in the evening she had tried to follow the conversation when it lapsed back to French or English, but now, past midnight and nearing the bottom of the bottle of whiskey, Zelda was content to sit back and simply watch Marie. 

It had been a long time since Zelda had truly been out with friends. Family had always come first for Spellmans, and what friends she had had were lost, either driven away from her by Edward’s attempts to reform the Church of Night or murdered in Faustus’s final betrayal as High Priest. Spending a night talking about things other than the end of the world with people she hadn’t known for 200 years was a relaxing change.

As Marie came to the end of her story, possibly something about Sabrina—Zelda thought she kept hearing her niece's name—the baby in the bassinet next to Zelda woke up. Mathilde and Alexandre were focused on Marie, so Zelda was the first one to notice the baby’s awakening gurgle. 

“Bonjour, ma petit cherie,” she murmured, reaching over to rub the little girl’s stomach. She was very young, not even a year. 

The baby, Isabelle—Michele Isaballe, Mathilde had said when they’d come in—opened her tiny mouth in a smile, displaying a remarkable lack of teeth. Zelda felt a wide smile spread across her face in response and tickled the baby’s stomach again, laughing quietly as Isabelle grabbed at one of her large sparkly rings and did her best to start eating it. 

“Non, non, ma belle, that’s not for you, darling,” she whispered to the baby, pulling back her hand. 

Immediately, Isablle let out a squeal of indignation and reddened, looking as if she was building up breath to start crying. Well aware of the outburst that followed such a look, Zelda reached down and picked the baby up, setting her gently on her own lap. 

“C’est bien, Cherie. It’s alright little one,” she said, gently patting her back with one hand while balancing her on her lap with the other. Isabelle relaxed after a moment, switching from a fascination with her rings to staring open mouthed at the large pendant necklace she wore. This had always worked with Sabrina when she was little, and even now when Sabrina was upset, Zelda was occasionally struck with the overwhelming urge to gently pat her back.

Playing with Isabelle, Zelda didn’t notice that Marie had stopped talking or that they were all looking at her until Marie reached over and rubbed Isabelle’s hair. Isabelle cooed and reached in vain for Marie’s hand and swinging necklaces. 

“Have you made a friend, Cherie?” Marie asked, smiling at Zelda.

Zelda smiled widely at her, then stood to gently hand the baby to Alexandre, allowing the little girl to grab at her rings one final time before following Marie to the door. 

“Thank you so much for dinner, it was a delight,” Zelda said from the doorway, hand in hand with Marie, facing the other couple. 

“But of course,” Mathilde replied, “it was wonderful to meet you Zelda. I hope we shall see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Zelda looked in askance to Marie, who simply smiled and said something quickly in Creole to Mathilde and Alexandre, who both laughed. Then she tugged Zelda down the stairs into the street. Zelda generally allowed herself to be pulled along places for about three seconds and to be kept in the dark for even less, so she quickly pulled Marie to stop. 

“Tomorrow?” She said again to Marie, who was still wearing her smile. It was slightly fuller than the one Zelda was used to, but Marie had been wearing it nearly all day. It’s her New Orleans smile, Zelda thought absently, this is how she looks when she’s at home. The fact that she hadn’t seen it before brought a slight pang to her heart.

“Tomorrow, Cherie,” Marie replied, “they have asked me to baptize that petit bebe tomorrow, and they would like it you were there as well. You made quite an impression.” 

Zelda was well used to making an impression, favourable or not, but she wasn’t used to actually caring what people thought about her. Upholding the family reputation was one thing, but trying to simply have friends outside of coven politics wasn’t something she was very practiced at. The joy that blossomed inside her at hearing that Marie’s friends liked her was unexpected, and, despite herself, she smiled broadly. 

“Really? How wonderful,” She said.

“Ah, I thought that would make you happy, Cherie,” Marie said, looking satisfied. “Worth the very temporary mystery, no?” 

Zelda rolled her eyes, but the effect was ruined by the fact that she was still smiling. “Perhaps,” she allowed. 

They walked in silence for a moment, hand in hand, but a strange noise from one the small alleyways behind them interrupted their temporary peace. Zelda felt Marie’s hand tense on her own as they both whirled around, unconsciously drawing closer together. Zelda raised her right hand, a small ball of flame whirling around it, revealing not someone following them, but a large racoon fiddling with an empty can, completely oblivious to the two witches facing it down. 

Zelda’s laugh of relief sounded hollow even to her own ears, and she didn’t miss the furtive look that Marie shot the street behind them as they faced each other. 

“It has been a long day… ” Marie began, trailing off.

“Perhaps we should teleport home?” Zelda finished.

“Oui,” Marie replied, relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of Marie's altar is from some descriptions of Ezrulie Dantor, which I found here   
>  ( https://www.learnreligions.com/voodoo-gods-4771674 ) and also from ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haitian_Vodou ) the Wikipedia and it's sources.   
> Again, a lot of the French should be translated but some bits (it's all from google translate though so I apologize for any errors)  
> Ma petit cherie: my little dear   
> Ma belle: my beauty  
> surement: of course/naturally


	3. If thine is the glory, mine must be the shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is from the song 'You Want it Darker' by Leonard Cohen

The next day dawned clear and bright, though Zelda wasn’t awake to see it. By the time she woke up, the morning sun was streaming through the windows, turning the room into an oven. She rolled onto her back and stretched luxuriously, accidentally poking Marie’s shoulder and making her laugh in the process. Zelda turned to find Marie fully clothed in a white tank top and purple wide-legged pants, sitting on the bed next to her with a book and cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” Marie said brightly. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Clearly, I did,” Zelda replied. It was most unlike her to sleep so late in the morning. Decades of sharing a room with Hilda, who woke up promptly at six, meant that even after the longest nights, Zelda rarely managed to sleep after seven in the morning.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked Marie. “It’ll hardly be a vacation if I sleep through all of it.” 

Ignoring the sharpness that had slipped into Zelda’s voice, Marie shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. 

“We are not doing anything this morning, and it seemed as if you needed the sleep. Besides...” She smiled and reached over to slip the strap of Zelda’s lacey black nightgown back up onto her shoulder. “Tu es assez beau quand tu dors.” You are quite beautiful when you’re sleeping.   
Despite her annoyance with sleeping in so long, Zelda felt a smile creep across her face. “Well, I suppose that’s acceptable.” 

Marie nodded and sipped her coffee again. When Marie lowered the mug Zelda took it from her hands and had a sip herself. As the warm coffee travelled down her throat, she suddenly became aware just how hot she was. Despite only wearing a light slip, her skin was beaded with sweat, hair sticky and hot against the back of her neck, and the heat of the coffee made it that much worse. 

Even the warm pressure of Marie’s leg pressed against her own was nearly overwhelming. Marie smiled as Zelda gave the cup back immediately, glad when the heat of it left her hands. Zelda thought that Marie seemed completely cool and unbothered in the heat, but as she rested her head against Marie’s shoulder, she could see a thin line of sweat trailing down Marie’s collarbone. 

“Marie…” she said in a leading voice, running a finger along Marie’s collarbone. 

“Oui, Cherie?” 

“Is it ever cooler here?” she asked with a dramatic sigh, tracing her hand lower towards the curve of Marie’s breasts. Yesterday had been bad, but she’d thought that had just been the travel and shock of coming from Greendale. 

Marie laughed and put her hand on Zelda’s leg through the sheets. “Cherie, it is June. This is a cool day.”

Zelda slumped against Marie with a small moan. Possibly she would melt. For all that she loved to travel, the idea of Greendale summer, humid but decidedly diabolically cool, sounded delightful. 

“Ah, ma belle, you will be alright,” Marie laughed. “You will adjust.” 

Only for Marie, she thought. Only for Marie would she suffer this heat. If she ever came back to this city she would get Hilda prepare some sort of cooling potion, or Ambrose could find her a cooling charm. she hadn’t often needed them before. 

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “And what do we have planned for today?” 

“Well, sleeping, apparently,” Marie teased, “and I have some packing to do in the apartment. There are some things here for breakfast, but then I thought we might get lunch down by the river, then come back for the afternoon? Unfortunately, there is still much to pack both here and in my shop.” 

As the day rolled on, Zelda grew, as she had predicted, much hotter. The morning in Marie’s shop had been productive. Listening to records while organising was one of Zelda’s secret pleasures. By lunchtime, Marie’s apartment was devoid of dust, and her books and trinkets had been neatly organised, with boxes waiting for transport to the Spellman mortuary set aside from anything that would stay in the apartment for Alexandre’s cousin. 

They took lunch after a leisurely walk by the river and returned to the shop once the heat and sunburn had become unbearable for Zelda.

Zelda had taken to the project with enthusiasm. organising magical objects, particularly from a practice she knew so little about, was an exciting prospect. Unfortunately, her enthusiasm for cleaning waned somewhat once she’d found the bookshelf.   
The most interesting little book had drawn her attention, written in 19th century French. The author refused to identify himself, but it almost seemed as if he might be Alexandre Dumas, pere. When she was young and studying abroad in Europe, she'd read books like this, but nothing by Dumas. 

The book held her attention so tightly that she almost missed the sound of the shop’s doorbell jingle. She would have missed it completely, were it not for the slow sense of danger that trickled down her spine. Not wanting to alert the intruder, she slowly lifted her gaze to see two men, neither of whom she recognised, standing by the door of the shop, inspecting various objects. They couldn’t see her standing by the bookshelf, behind the bead curtain. Her sleeveless black dress blended into the bookshelf, and her bright hair was hidden in a tight bun. 

Where was Marie? She’d lost track of the woman while she was reading, she could’ve been in the back room or upstairs. Ever so slowly, Zelda set down her book and moved towards the men the same way she’d seen cats stalk prey.   
There was something about them, something she felt as much as saw with her eyes. It reminded her forcefully of the young man from last night. They had the same furtive, threatening look about them, as if they were about to run away, but only to lure her into an ambush. However, before she had taken more than a few steps towards them, Marie burst into the shop from the back room. 

“My apologies,” she said, “I did not hear the bell.”

Zelda tried to catch her eye, but Marie was entirely focused on the two men. From her vantage point, Zelda could see that at least Marie had put the desk between herself and the two men. In one of the mirrors she could see a distorted reflection of the men’s faces, but could clearly see Marie between their shoulders. 

“Unfortunately,” Marie continued, a look that was both polite and wary creeping across her face, “we are closed right now.” 

They knew that, of course. The sign on the door they’d so cavalierly opened had clearly said ‘Closed,’ and the lights were off. 

“Oh, we just need one thing,” one of the men said with an easy Southern drawl.  
Zelda continued to stalk closer to them, and she saw now that he was older than his companion, his thin hair spotted with grey. They were both wearing black suit jackets, and their hair was slicked back in a way that reminded Zelda of Blackwood. 

“And what is that, exactly?” Marie asked. 

“We need some help with something,” the older man said. “There’s a friend of ours. Well, an acquaintance, really.” He paused before giving a stilted laugh filled with false humour. “And we need them to have a little accident. The kind that you don’t get better from.”

Finally, she caught Marie’s eye as Marie looked from man to man. Marie didn’t react openly to seeing Zelda standing so quietly behind them, but disgust fell across her face as she regarded the men. 

“Let us be perfectly clear,” Marie said, voice colder than Zelda had ever heard it. “There is someone you wish dead, and you have come to me to kill them.” 

“Yes,” said the older man. He sounded pleased that Marie had grasped the concept so quickly. “I—we—want you to kill them with your voodoo magic stuff. I have a picture-”

He pulled a photograph out of his suit jacket and placed it on the counter in front of Marie, too far away for Zelda to see it.

“If you could kill her and make it look like an accident, we would be most obliged, and we’d be able to pay you. We have—” 

“Get out,” Marie interrupted, sounding somehow more severe than she had before. “Now. I will not have my way of life disrespected by the likes of you in this way.”

“Now, you listen here—” the older man began, but Zelda had heard enough. 

“You heard her,” she snapped. “Get out.” 

Both men nearly jumped out of their skins turning to face her, and the look on their faces was enormously gratifying. It had been a long time since she’d had the opportunity to inspire such easy fear in mortals, and the power rush that came with it was exhilarating.

“Why, you little—” the younger man started towards her, but the other held out his arm. From behind, Zelda had supposed they might be father and son, but looking at them now, the word ‘partner’ seemed to fit them more. They were clearly working as a team.

“Apologies,” the older man said, looking her up and down in a way that felt even more invasive than open leering. “We were just leaving,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. 

“Quite,” she snarled back, holding his gaze. If he thought he would intimidate her with a paltry staring match, he was sorely mistaken. After a moment, he looked down, but only to her hands. When she opened her left fist, the door to the shop shot open.

They left without another word, the older man pushing the younger in front of him. As soon as they left, Zelda slammed the door shut without touching it, with the sheer force of her anger, snapping the deadbolt for good measure. 

“Was that the man you saw yesterday?” Marie asked. Zelda could hear Marie walking towards her to where she stood by the door, keeping a level eye on the men’s backs as they strode away. 

“No,” she sighed, losing sight of them. “No, I’d never seen either of them before.” 

She wished, not for the first time, for her sister’s easy skill with telepathy. Hilda could read people, particularly mortals, as easily as Zelda read a book, discerning deepest fears and long hidden secrets with a single look. It was an eerie gift, even for a witch, and Zelda had learned young to keep her feelings hidden from her little sister, especially since her own mental talents ran more towards the physical than Hilda’s did. 

Perhaps she’d been too careless, using her gifts around those men. The way that man had looked at her—looked at her hands when she used magic—it had been entirely too knowing for her taste. Yes, there had been something strange about them, and she particularly disliked not knowing how many of them there were. The man from the night before likely had a partner with him as well, and Hecate knew how many others there were lurking somewhere. 

Marie wrapped her arms around her, startling her slightly out her reverie. “Are you alright, Cherie?” Marie asked, leaning her head on Zelda’s sunburnt shoulder. 

Zelda turned to kiss Marie’s cheek. “Yes, I’m alright. There was just something about them that bothered me.” 

Marie nodded. “Very unpleasant, no? With any luck, they will never find what they are looking for.” 

“Does that sort of thing happen often?” Zelda asked. She was surprised by how easily Marie seemed to be taking it in stride. 

Marie shrugged. “That was not the first time. Mostly people come here to have their fortunes read, to buy a scary doll or, like your Prudence and Ambrose, they are witches looking for help with a spell. But sometimes…” she trailed off with a tsking noise, “sometimes there are people like them.”   
She laughed “I do not think I ever scare them as much as you did, though, mon fue. You were truly something.”

“Well, I should think so,” Zelda said with a small smile.

They left for Isabelle’s baptism early, just as the sun was setting; they made their way through the winding streets to a small building already packed with fellow churchgoers. Zelda drifted in the crowd, meeting more of Marie’s friends and sosyete members than she could possibly be expected to remember, some strange and exciting, others surprisingly normal.

Marie’s happiness was astounding. Those she’d told Zelda only hours before were boring or insipid, or even whom she secretly hated, she greeted them all with genuine joy. Indeed this seemed to be Marie’s element. Everytime Zelda was separated from her by the crowd, she could immediately follow the brightest laugh or conversation back to Marie. 

Not long after Mathilde and Alexandre arrived, the ceremony began. It was nothing like the witchs’ baptisms Zelda knew, but she was surprised to find familiar elements. It began with archaic French Catholic prayers. The Lord’s Prayer, followed by three Hail Marys and a song of some sort. It was so strange, hearing these words, which she’d always associated with…well, with the enemy. With Christians and witch hunters, rather than mortals relatively harmless to the average witch. Real people, in a sense: the ones fully separate from the world of demons and gods. Mortals like Mathilde and Alexandre, the small family to her left, and the old man to her right. It was surreal to stand in the midst of a Catholic ceremony, unguarded, and yet still unworried.   
Not three months ago this would have been impossible to imagine, but here she was, with Marie. 

For a single, strange instant, she considered joining the final refrain. The sense of unity, of wholeness and cohesion, was intoxicating, and besides, she already knew all the words. It was only a Christian inversion of an old Satanic song. For a second, just a moment, she joined in. Her voice was low and quiet, but Marie heard it and squeezed her hand tightly without turning to Zelda.

A strange, choking burn sparked in the back of Zelda’s throat. Even though she’d only sung a few words of the canticle, it had been enough to invoke the price of saying a Christian prayer. When she breathed, she could smell the faint odor of iron, taste the blood seeping over her tongue. It was a small enough price to pay to hold Marie’s hand, but not an experience she wanted to repeat any time soon. 

The baptism continued to Haitian Creole, and her mind wandered to Edward. She knew he’d gone to church with Diana at least once that she knew of, and she’d scorned him severely for it. Perhaps he’d gone on occasions like this, too. Had this been how he’d felt when he attended the Catholic church in Greendale? Like he was looking into a warped mirror, his own faith reflected back at him? Like he was looking into a world he could never truly join? Trapped on the wrong side of the looking glass?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used this article, which I found from the wikipedia, for the description of the baptism. (https://wesscholar.wesleyan.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?referer=https://en.wikipedia.org/&httpsredir=1&article=1012&context=div2facpubs ).   
> Random inconsistency I noticed when writing this chapter, in season 2 when the witch hunters show up they re-consecrate the church so that witches can't go in. Great. However, in season 1 there's a big deal made of how Hilda witnessed Sabrina's baptism, which would've taken place in a church. So I just going to assume that the witch hunters did some sort of special consecration and that's why the witches couldn't go in but they could go into a normal church.  
> Also also it's been super hot and humid where I live lately and that's why Zelda is so annoyed about the heat haha.


	4. Let’s be alone together, we could stay young forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fall out boy this time, "alone together"

“Marie,” Zelda said hesitantly from the living room.

“Yes, ma miel?” Marie called from the kitchen.

“Marie, when you’re in Greendale, you…” she broke off, searching for the right words. It was a question that she didn’t want to ask, and wasn’t certain she wanted to know the answer. But it had weighed heavily on Zelda the past two days, seeing the joy that radiated from Marie when she was home. She had seen Marie happy in Greendale of course. Often, she thought, but this was different. Marie was different.

“It’s just that you’re so…” she trailed off again as Marie entered the room, two glasses of whiskey in han., It was easier to imagine saying this when she didn't have to look at Marie while she was saying it.

“You wouldn’t be happier here, would you? When you’re in Greendale with us, with me, you wouldn’t rather be here?” 

She was accustomed to prioritising her own emotions over others’, but she couldn’t bear the uncertainty that Marie might want to be somewhere, somewhere that wasn’t with her. 

Marie’s rich brown eyes were heavy on hers. She didn’t immediately protest as Zelda had hoped she would, but instead held out Zelda’s glass to her. When Zelda took it, Marie sat down beside her on the couch, looking intently at Zelda. Zelda pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned against the arm of the chair before tucking her feet neatly beneath Marie’s legs. Zelda sipped at her whiskey to hide her trembling lips, silently waiting for Marie to speak.

“La response facile—the simple answer is no. I wouldn’t rather be in New Orleans than in Greendale. I love my family here, but I came to Greendale willingly, and I have stayed there these past months the same. That having been said,” 

Marie lifted the glass to her lips and turned, resting her arms and chin on Zelda’s knees. Zelda was certain that Marie could hear how fast her heart was beating, or at least see the worry in her eyes. They were only inches apart from each other.

“But the real answer to your question, if it is not too forward, is that I would not be happy in Greendale or New Orleans without you, Zelda Spellman. I believe that I would be most homesick if you weren’t there with me.” 

Zelda’s heart clenched sweetly and suddenly, and joy flooded her entire body instantly.. “Oh” 

She raised her whiskey to hide the childish smile that she knew was spreading across her face. She could feel her blood rising in a blush, no doubt turning all of her as red as her sunburn.

Marie smiled and placed a finger under Zelda’s chin, lifting her face gently until their eyes met. 

“You are blushing, mon tresor,” Her cool finger traced a line down Zelda’s neck. “Blushing all over. I was not too forward, no?” 

Zelda had the strange feeling of reversal, as now Marie’s worried eyes met hers. It seemed impossible that someone who was confident, who Zelda trusted with her heart in a way she did no one else, could be that worried. She took Marie’s hand from the line it was tracing on her collarbone to her mouth and kissed it. Then she set her glass on the floor and leaned as far forward as her body allowed, taking Marie’s beautiful face in her hands.

“It was not too forward.” She kissed Marie, shivers of happiness travelling from her hands and her mouth to her heart. 

“It was perfect,” she whispered in Marie’s ear, threading her hands through Marie’s hair and pulling her closer. Marie laughed against her mouth and obliged, pressing Zelda back against the arm of the couch until Marie was on top of her, straddling Zelda’s waist. 

The cool night breeze coming through the window cut through the lingering heat of the day. Marie’s hands were cool, too, chilled from the ice in the whiskey glass. The same was true of her lips. They left trails of goosebumps overZelda’s sunburnt skin, on her neck, her wrists. Her breasts, and the soft heat between her legs. 

Zelda awoke much later that night. Somehow she was cold, even wrapped in the sheets of Marie’s bed. She reached out in the dark to find Marie sleeping next to her, warm. Zelda rolled next to her and wrapped an arm over Marie, her body fitting into the curves of Marie’s as comfortably as two pages in a book falling against one another. 

Marie, still half-asleep, murmured softly and laced her fingers with Zelda’s , tucking it beneath her chin, pinning them together.. The strangest feeling was swelling up in Zelda, pushing against her chest and tickling the back of her throat. When Marie let out a soft sigh of contentment, brushing against her hand, she realised what it was. 

“Marie,” she whispered, to no response. “I love you.”

Marie was still sound asleep, but Zelda felt lighter. An inordinate smile spread across her face, and she smothered it against Marie’s shoulder. 

\--------

The Sunday morning that followed Zelda’s midnight confession was soft and cloudy, a rare overcast morning with a fog for the sun to burn off. 

When Zelda awoke the sun was stretching across her face, not that she needed the extra heat. She stretched languidly, hoping to poke Marie again, but the bed was empty. 

She turned to properly survey the room, but it was empty. With a frown she checked the time on the bedside clock. Once again she’d slept until ten in the morning, but this time, Marie hadn’t stayed with her. 

She rose and went to the attached bathroom, but it was also empty. Her reflection caught her eye, and she took a moment to wash her face and fix her hair. The sunburn across her shoulders had worsened, bright red even under her nightgown. Her face had reddened too, but at least her hair looked nice. 

The kitchen was empty too, but on the table she found a folded piece of paper—the same creamy white color from Marie’s notebooks—with her name penned on the front.

Reading the short note, she could clearly hear Marie’s voice in her head.

“Zelda, I have gone to church and should be back by ten. If you’re reading this, you have clearly woken up far too early, and should go back to sleep, but there are some scones in the breadbox. A beintot.” See you soon. 

The note was signed, “ton amour.” Your love. Smiling absentmindedly Zelda kept the note in her hand while she moved around the kitchen, fixing herself a cup of coffee and a small scone. She ate breakfast on the porch overlooking the garden, cigarette in hand. It was small of course, a backyard garden in a proper city, but Marie had filled it well with dozens of beautiful plants, flowers and strongly scented herbs. 

Sitting on the small balcony she was struck by the fact that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken breakfast alone. Or any meal really, without Hilda or someone else. Of course a part of that was the number of meals she missed. Running the academy, she was lucky if she got any time to eat before first class, or any break at all from the teen angst to have lunch. Usually Hilda made them all sit down for dinner, but with her upcoming marriage that had been a sparser occurrence.

Hilda! Married! It was so such a strange thing to think that her sister was getting married, after all these years. To an incubus, no less. And she’d thought her own marriage had been odd. She winced slightly at the thought and pushed any thought of her own marriage firmly to the side.

She didn't particularly like Doctor Cerberus, but he seemed sufficiently afraid of her and in love with Hilda, so she wasn’t too worried. It would be strange, certainly, to be living in a house without her sister, but she’d manage. She always did. 

Besides, she thought, smiling to herself as she looked at the note. I have Marie now. Whatever trouble that Sabrina and the students caused, whatever great evil was coming, she would deal with it. And Marie would be by her side. Alone she was powerful—she always had been—but with Marie they would be unstoppable. They had defeated the pagans, they would defeat the Eldritch terrors, and finally, they would defeat Faustus.

Although it would all be easier if Marie were more timely. It must now be close to 10:30, and yet Marie still wasn’t back for their last day together in New Orleans. 

S  
he sighed and stubbed out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray she’d brought with her. She cleared her setting, cleaning the plate and sending it to the sink with a spell.

She put on an old record they’d found buried in the back of one of Marie’s closets and prepared herself for the day, however little of it she might actually get to spend out of the apartment.   
\--   
She took her time showering and getting ready, half hoping that Marie might return to the apartment and join her, but by midday, , she found herself in the living room smoking another cigarette and reading one of Marie’s books, though she barely comprehended the words on the page. When the church bells struck noon, she jumped, ripping one of the pages in half. 

“Oh, for Satan’s sake!” she snapped, more to herself than the book. She pulled more smoke into her lungs and exhaled heavily through her nose, calming her temper enough to repair the book with a small spell and a prayer to Hecate. 

Continuing her slow flip through the pages, she tried to catch the line of any sort of plot, but her mind continued to wander. It wasn’t the book’s fault, but her annoyance at having been kept waiting so long was starting to mix with worry, and she simply could not focus.

Marie had intended to be back at ten, and they had certainly planned to go to lunch together. While few peoples’ lives were on schedules strict enough to please Zelda, Marie wasn’t usually late, and more to the point, she’d never be so inconsiderate as to leave Zelda waiting for her all day. Of course, it was also entirely possible that she’d seen a friend at church and had gotten caught up in talking with them. For two hours. 

Unbidden the image of the stranger she’d seen following them, of the men in the shop rose in her mind. With a sigh, she pushed her focus once more towards the book, exercising her considerable self-control to focus on the text. Still, a small part of her mind wandered.

It was possible the men weren’t working together, of course, and that they were common hooligans, but there was something about them, something threatening. If they knew enough about Marie to follow her and find her shop, it would be a simple matter for them to follow her to church, the only time since they’d been in New Orleans that she’d gone out alone. 

There were always dangers for lone witches, even if it wasn’t the great evil that Marie had warned her about, Marie could have old enemies, and the mortal world itself held dangers. Witches were as vulnerable to mortal weapons as anyone else, as she herself had recently proven. 

“Enough,” Zelda sighed to herself. This was nonsense. If Marie couldn’t come back to the apartment herself, for whatever reason, Zelda would simply go find her.

As the church bells ended she put on her shoes and strode out down the stairs. It was likely that Marie was perfectly fine, but anything was better than this interminable waiting. As she stepped down the stairs, she wondered, where did one find a church exactly? By the sound of those bells there were dozens nearby, and Marie hadn’t mentioned which one she was going to that day. 

The shop was still dark, but the handle to the door turned strangely when she reached it, strange enough to stop her train of thought and look down. It was ajar. Suddenly a wave of fear crashed into her, loose anxiety about Marie coalescing into an immediate sense of danger. She whirled, sensing someone moving behind her. 

The spell on her lips died as something struck her hard on the back of the head. She felt the dull impact of her knees hitting the ground before another blow came, and the world went back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French:   
> ma miel: my sweet/ honey  
> The scene at the endish (where Zelda says I love you) is based on a scene from 'reaching for the moon' a wonderful lesbian movie starring Miranda Otto about Elizabeth Bishop and her relationship with Lota de Mercedo Soares, a Brazilian architect


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: a lot of violence and murder in this one, the title is from one of my favourite songs, God's gonna cut you down by Johnny Cash

“Zelds! Oh, Zelda, please wake up.” Hilda’s voice drilled into her head. Groggily, she tried to will herself awake, fighting against what felt like the worst hangover of her very long life. 

“Zelda, wake up, please, please wake up.” The note of fear in Hilda’s voice dragged her abruptly back to consciousness. Whatever was hurting her little sister would have to be dealt with, at least so she could go back to sleep. 

She pried her eyes open to see Hilda standing in front of her. Her vision was slightly blurry, but when she tried to raise her hand to rub her eyes, she realised her wrists were bound to the arm of the chair she was sitting in, as were her ankles. 

“Hilda, what’s going on!” she snapped, suddenly very awake. “Where in Hecate’s name am I?” 

“Oh, Zelds!” Hilda nearly cried in relief, “you’re alive!” 

“Of course, I’m alive. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Hilda choked back something between a sob and sigh of exasperation. 

“You’re just covered in blood and tied to a chair, that’s all.” 

Zelda sighed. That was why her head hurt so much. A dim memory of something striking the back of her head came back to her. The shop. She’d been looking for something, but there was someone there. The sharp pain in her hands brought her back to the situation. 

“Hilda, what’s going on? Where are we?” she asked, wrists straining against the rope.

“Well, I’m in Greendale—I’m astral projecting” Hilda replied, “I just did the spell so I would appear to you. I don’t know where you are.” 

Zelda looked around the room. It was dark, lit by a few small light bulbs, perhaps a storeroom or basement. There were also strange decorations of some sort on the walls. 

“I was at the shop—Marie’s shop in New Orleans—and there was something…I was looking for her,” Zelda realised, her annoyance and confusion replaced by fear. 

“Hilda, someone was following us, Marie and I. She never came back this morning, and someone attacked me in the shop.” 

Hilda’s face went very still, frozen in a mask of concern.

“I’m coming—teleporting to help you,” she said, voice trembling slightly.

“Nonsense, sister.” Zelda’s mind was whirling, running through a hundred possible scenarios where Marie was alive, dead, injured beyond repair, but she focused her firm tone on Hilda.

“You’re not a fighter, Hilda. You wouldn’t be able to find me without a tracking spell, and if you could even find me, you’re more likely to teleport into the ocean than to wherever I actually am.” 

“Well, I’m not just going to leave you tied to a chair, am I!” Hilda snapped back at her. Zelda smiled. An angry and afraid Hilda was always a bit snappier than normal Hilda. It made a nice change.

Zelda scoffed in response. As if she would be rendered helpless when tied to a chair. Focusing intently on her hands, which were numb and burning from lack of blood, she took a deep breath, clearing her mind. It was difficult to perform spell work without her hands, but of course she was capable of it. The words to the spell rose clear in her mind, and as she chanted, she felt as if she could hear Edward whispering the spell in her ear. He had taught it to her when she was younger, just in case. 

“Amabus manibus oro tibi, Hecate, et in carcere, imploro, cano te, libra me.”

She opened her eyes to see the rope snap off her wrists and fall to the floor. Hilda looked appropriately impressed. Her sister probably would have needed one of her dolls to do anything like that. 

With a flick of her now freed wrists, Zelda broke the ropes that bound her ankles and stood, rolling her shoulders and stamping her feet slightly to recirculate her blood. 

“And what exactly do you plan to do now?” Hilda asked, but Zelda wasn’t listening. There was something on the wall behind Hilda, large woodcut letters above a painting. She stepped through Hilda, who gave a squawk of indignation, to look more closely. 

As they came into focus, panic closed a fist around her heart. The woodcut letters read, “Exodus, 22:18.” It was the only verse from the Christian God’s Bible that she knew off the top of her head. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” 

“Hilda,” she said, voice shakier than she’d intended. Hilda turned and gasped when she saw what Zelda was looking at. The painting beneath it depicted a group of men in the Puritan dress that had been common in her youth, standing beneath a tree hung with women. Witches. 

“Hunters,” she breathed, turning to face Hilda. 

Hilda looked terrified, but also angry. It was the same anger Zelda felt rising in her chest. They had lost Ambrose’s father to witch hunters, and had nearly lost Ambrose and Sabrina as well.

Zelda forced down the significant fear that accompanied the anger. It was one thing to encounter a witch hunter out in the world, but she was trapped in the very fox's nest. And they had Marie. 

Hilda looked at her with an unusual steely glint in her eye “I’m getting Ambrose, and Sabrina, and as much of the academy as I can find. We’re coming after you.” 

“Hilda, don’t be a fool!” Zelda snarled. She took a deep breath, focusing her anger. “Go find Ambrose and Sabrina—Prudence and the hedge witches if you can—but don’t involve the rest of the students. It’s not like they’d be much help anyway. If I don’t contact you within the hour, then—” Her voice cracked slightly but she pinned it down. “—then come find Marie and me. We will likely need your help.” 

The look on Hilda’s face made it seem like she was about to argue, but then a small bird fluttered to the ground at Zelda's feet. A psychopomp. She gave Hilda a quick look, then turned to face the door.

Hilda took one final look at her sister and disappeared.   
\--  
Facing the door, Zelda’s first instinct was to simply blast it down, but if she drew the witch hunters’ attention too soon—before she knew what she was facing—she would be no help to Marie. 

A single sharp word melted the lock, and she pushed the door open to reveal an empty hallway. Heart pounding, she strode out of the basement, sparks crackling around her hands. She stalked down the hallway. It was silent, eerily so. 

There were a few doors along the hall, opening into rooms devoid of people. One of the rooms appeared to be a library, likely full of books on witches and the occult. Another was filled with guns and weapons, and another only had a chair with ropes hanging from its arms.

As she turned the corner, a thread of sound brushed her ear. There were people speaking somewhere nearby, off to her left. She took the first turn, and was confronted with a closed door. 

Pressing her ear against it, she could clearly hear voices talking, joking about something. Her anger spiked when she heard a sharp laugh. She placed her hand, crackling with fire and power, against the door.

“Id rumpo!” The door exploded inward, driving shards of wood into every available surface: a table with a few chairs, a sink. A coffee maker. This was their break room, where they sat and took coffee between plotting butchery and murder. 

Power crackling around her, Zelda strode into the room, pinning the three men to the wall with an easy gesture. The anger coursing through her veins was extraordinary, beyond anything she’d felt in a long time. The fear on their faces fueled her power. 

“Where is she?” she growled, voice low, looking each of them in the eye. The one on the far left was gibbering some sort of nonsense and couldn’t meet her gaze. When she forced his face up to hers, he only gazed at her, speechless. 

“Where is she?” she screamed, heedless of who would hear her.

They were pathetic wastes of space, blundering threats, and she would gladly tear them apart to get to Marie. The man looking at her shook his head slowly once, twice, and then with a swift movement she tore his eyes from their sockets and flung him against the opposite wall, where he collapsed with a grunt. And then, there were two. Her hair rose in a cloud around her head, crackling with the magic and anger coursing through her body. 

One of them had pissed himself, the acrid stench of it filling the windowless room, and he wouldn’t meet her eye again. Frustration building, she turned to the next man. He was the young stranger that had been following them. 

“You!” she snarled at him, raising him slowly to the ceiling by his neck, “where is she?” 

His face turned red as she exerted more pressure on his neck, but he managed to whisper. “Upstairs.” 

Upstairs. With a single move, she broke his neck. She slammed the two men against the wall with the other hunter. 

The stairs were easy to find, right off the end of the hall. At the top there was a door with a small circular glass window. The only grain of caution left—the only one that hadn’t been blown away by anger—pressed her to look through the window. One hand pressed against the door, Zelda looked through the window. Distantly she noticed that the wood was charring beneath her hand, but she couldn’t feel the fire, only smell the smoke.

On the other side of the door was a large, open room with shuttered windows and chairs arranged in a vague circle. In the centre of the circle was a group of men, perhaps seven or eight of them, some with guns and knives. One man stood in the middle of them, facing away from Zelda and , reading a Bible to someone who was sitting in a chair in front of him. 

Zelda rose to her tip-toes, trying to see who was sitting in the chair, when the man reading from the Bible moved, revealing the man behind him. It was the older man from the shop, now carrying a large hunting knife dripping with blood. And the person in the chair was Marie. 

Something dark broke open within Zelda. The final dam holding anger broke, and the door exploded outward, bursting towards the men in a ball of flame and flying debris. They turned to face her, far too slowly, and the two closest to her caught the full brunt of the fiery wood, blown back by the force of her spell. 

The others pulled guns on her, but they were also too slow, and with a flick of her wrists, their guns imploded, the shrapnel blowing away from her. She whirled towards a sudden movement behind her to find one of the remaining men pointing a gun at her. She couldn’t restrain a harsh laugh bubbling up her throat, and, completely enraged, he pulled the trigger. 

Of course, nothing happened. The bullet simply fell to her feet, bouncing off the protection charm she’d cast after Mary Wardwell shot her. The panic and fear on his face was intoxicating, and she let him empty the entire clip before slamming a palm into his chest, melting him from the inside. He staggered back and collapsed, blood foaming from his mouth. She took a single moment to savour the pleasure of his demise before turning to face Marie. She had forgotten about the man with the knife. 

It was the older man from the shop, the one who had watched her use magic. He was holding a knife to Marie’s throat. 

“Don’t you dare,” Zelda snarled, starting towards him. 

The man bared his teeth and raised the knife. “One more step, witch, and I slit her throat.” He looked her up and down then spat at her feet. “Witch.” 

Without thinking, she acted on furious instinct and raised her hands to curse him. It worked, naturally. She split him open from neck to groin, and his intestines flayed open. But it was too late. The moment she had raised her hands, he had plunged the knife into Marie’s chest. 

Zelda felt shock reverberate through her body, anger dissolving into fear in a heartbeat, and suddenly it was as if she was watching herself from very far away. She watched her body collapse to her knees in front of Marie, heard the ragged scream that tore across her throat, and saw her hands tremble as she reached for Marie. 

It was as she touched Marie and felt the blood spreading beneath her fingers that she snapped back to her body, compartmentalising. She could deal with this. She could deal with anything. Marie could not die. That was all she knew. 

Moving efficiently and not allowing any thoughts to cross her mind, Zelda pulled the ropes from Marie’s wrists and intertwined their hands. 

Focusing intently, she teleported them back to Marie’s apartment and laid Marie down in the bed. As Marie’s blood seeped into the sheets, Zelda’s panic rose again, almost choking her, but she beat it back. She reclaimed her steely self control, bourne from centuries of practice. 

With Marie’s blood on her hands, several things became immediately clear to her. Marie was dying, and would die—soon— without someone to heal her. Zelda had been an accomplished healer in her youth, but with the unfortunate exception of Constance, it had been years since she had even performed the duties of a midwife. She needed help. Someone who was an accomplished healer. She needed Hilda. 

Zelda turned away from the bed, purposefully not looking at Marie as she focused. Conjuring every aspect of Hilda, every memory she could hold in her mind, she reached out through space, dimly realising that she had never heard of anyone being summoned from so far, that it may well be impossible, but it didn’t matter. She reached out, and she pulled with all of her might, and Hilda appeared in front of her. 

“Zelda! What happened? We were just—coming to get you…” Hilda trailed off. “Zelds, are you alright?” 

Zelda pushed down every emotion she was feeling, everything threatening to overwhelm her and pull her under. She stepped aside so Hilda could see Marie lying on the bed. 

“Please, Hilda.” Zelda could have counted on one had the number of times she’d said please to Hilda and meant it. “Please. Help me.”


	6. If the Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Hozier lyrics

“Zelda? Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need anything?” 

Hilda’s worried voice broke through her reverie, pulling Zelda’s attention from Marie’s sleeping face. 

“Yes, Hilda. For the ten thousandth time, I’m fine,” Zelda snapped, though she regretted it when she saw Hilda’s face fall. Closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. 

“I’m sorry, sister. I’m fine, really. Thank you.” 

Somewhat mollified, Hidla came to her chair and rested a hand on Zelda’s shoulder. They both looked over at Marie, still asleep in the bed. Low dusk was falling, and the purple candles burning on every surface now lit the room, lightening Marie’s face in a soft, golden light. Marie was wearing a white cotton nightgown Prudence had rescued from the donation box, and Zelda and Hilda had changed the bloody sheets, working together the same way they had as midwives, performing the strange task of changing a bed with someone in it. 

“She’ll be fine, love,” Hilda whispered, squeezing Zelda’s shoulder. “She just needs rest.” 

Hilda was right. She always was when it came to healing, but Zelda knew that she wouldn’t be reassured until Marie woke up and looked at her with her warm eyes. 

Zelda made a small noise of acknowledgement and continued to gaze at Marie. The parallels to Marie’s vigil for her own life and the watch she was keeping now were not lost on her, but whereas Mary Wardwell’s attack had been a complete surprise, and her motives were still a mystery, the blame for the witch hunters’ actions rested squarely on Zelda’s own shoulders. 

Anyone with any sense at all would have performed a tracking spell on a man who’d been following them all day. She should have at least thought to put a protection spell over Marie. Of course, she’d been just as senseless the next day in the shop, showing off to open the door and scare the men. She’d been told a thousand times as a child not to use magic in front of mortals, lest she bring witch hunters upon their family. Nothing Marie had done had been the least out of the ordinary, and surely wouldn’t have drawn their ire. 

And at the last moment, when it had mattered most, she had lost control, the thing she had always been best at keeping. She had been swept away by her anger, spending far too much time tormenting the men who had captured Marie rather than saving Marie herself. Her mind kept coming back to that moment when the hunter had raised the knife over Marie. He’d told her—told her point-blank—he would kill Marie if she came near, but Zelda hadn’t even paused.She just blazed ahead, heedless of the consequences. It was exactly the sort of thing for which she reprimanded Sabrina. She’d been foolish and reckless and sloppy, and Marie had paid the price. 

So, as much as she very much wanted Marie to wake up, Zelda was also afraid of the moment after she woke up, when Marie realised who was to blame for everything. 

“Zelds?” Once again, Hilda’s worried voice pulled her back to awareness. 

“Yes?” she replied, still looking at Marie rather than at Hilda. 

“I’m just going to pop out for a minute and give Dr. Cee a ring, then I’ll be right back. I’ll just be in the other room, alright?” 

Zelda nodded, a faint shadow of her normal imperious gestures, and kept watching Marie. 

She sat her vigil for Marie as Hilda left and returned. She slept on the couch while the candles burned and the wax dripped. True night fell, and the city grew quiet, while the night birds sang their songs in Marie’s small garden and before eventually falling silent as well. 

In the deep hollow of the night, shortly after Marie’s bedside clock struck midnight, Marie murmured in her sleep, turning slightly, her movement stifled by the heavy sheets they’d wrapped around her. 

Zelda leaned forward, unsure of what to do, whether she should try to wake Marie or call Hilda. Marie murmured again, more anxiously and shook her head slightly so that her loose hair fell over her forehead. Zelda reached her pale hand out to smooth the loose curls off Marie’s forehead, as much for comfort as to check for a fever, a habit from years of sitting at sick beds before the mortal miracles of penicillin. 

Marie was cool beneath her hand, her skin soft and smooth. It brought a small smile to Zelda’s face, the first in hours and she leaned further forward in her chair, gently caressing Marie’s face in her hand, running a thumb across the beautiful planes of her cheek. 

To her surprise, Marie turned her head towards Zelda’s hand. When her eyes opened, Zelda felt her lashes brushing against her thumb. 

The sensation and the sight of Marie's beautiful brown eyes drew a delighted gasp from her mouth. 

“Marie!” she whispered, “you’re awake” 

She slipped from the chair to kneel at Marie’s bedside, their faces level, separated by scant inches. 

“I am, Cherie,” Marie whispered back, a smile spreading across her face, an echo of Zelda’s own joy. Marie turned and stretched, exhaustion still heavy on her face, then winced, pressing her hand to her bandaged abdomen. 

“What has happened, Cherie? My stomach feels as if it is on fire.” She turned back to Zelda, and her face became very still.   
“Zelda,” she said, quiet but no longer whispering, “you are covered in blood.”   
Zelda sat back on her heels and looked down at herself, assessing her appearance as much as she was avoiding Marie’s gaze. It was true, of course. The grey linen garden dress she’d been wearing was completely ruined. Her own blood, mainly from her head wound, stained the strap of the right shoulder, and it looked as if she had tried (and failed) to dye the rest of the dress red. She vaguely recalled Hilda mentioning something about changing or cleaning the flecks of blood that stood out, vivid against her pale skin. However, cleaning up would’ve meant leaving Marie’s side, so Hilda wisely hadn’t pressed the point. 

“Do remember the men in the shop yesterday? And the man that was following us?” Zelda looked up from her intertwined hands to see Marie nod. She fixed her gaze on the candle directly beyond Marie while she continued. 

“They were witch hunters, as it turns out. That’s why they were following us, why they came here. They—” she swallowed, the words catching in her throat.

“You went to church this morning, and you never came back, and I knew—I knew that something was wrong, that’d I’d—I went downstairs to look for you, but I underestimated them. They were waiting for me. They took me to their lair, but thankfully Hilda was trying to reach me, and she woke me up before long. Then, I found you and brought you back here.” She snuck a glance to Marie’s face, and suddenly found she couldn’t continue. 

Marie nodded, Zelda could feel her eyes scanning over her body, catching on the blood.

“Are you alright, Cherie?” she asked after a moment “Your head? All of that blood?” 

Zelda shook her head slightly, taken aback. Marie had been stabbed, and she was asking if Zelda was alright? 

“Yes. I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Good,” Marie said, her face fierce for a short moment. “That blood is the price they paid, ah?” 

“Some of it,” Zelda said, the flame of the candle was so bright, a clear impossible white-blue. “The rest—” 

“That is mine, no?” Marie asked, lifting the covers to look at her stomach. “What happened?” 

“One of them—the last one, that older man from the shop—he stabbed you. I was so slow, and I couldn’t—didn’t stop him in time, but I summoned Hilda here, and she healed you. She said that you’ll be ‘right as rain’ in the morning.” 

Marie smiled wanly. “Of course she said that.” She dropped the covers and laid back. “Well, it seems I owe you my thanks, Zelda Spellman.” 

“What in Hecate’s name are you talking about?” Zelda asked, so shocked that she actually looked at Marie.

“Well, it seems you saved my life, Cherie,” Marie said, quirking up an eyebrow at Zelda’s shocked expression. “That is the sort of thing I tend to take seriously, you know. Though in our case, I suppose it is only quid pro quo.”

“But this was all my fault,” Zelda exclaimed, just quiet enough that Hilda didn’t wake in the next room. “I didn’t save your life—I nearly killed you!”

Marie slowly pulled herself up, away from Zelda, and leaned against the headboard, almost sitting up. “Oh? So you stabbed me?”   
“No, but I could have seen this all coming. I should have. If I’d been paying any sort of attention, I would have said something, done something more to protect you. I—” 

Marie seemed to sense the tidal wave of emotion pent up within Zelda and cut her off. 

“Zelda, you did do something. You tried to warn me, you frightened them away in the shop, and you rescued me. That’s all you could have done.” She paused before reaching for Zelda’s intertwined hands, untangling them before interlocking her own fingers with Zelda’s. 

“You cannot control everything, Cherie.”

Zelda looked down at their joined hands: her pale, slightly bloody fingers locked with Marie’s warm brown ones. On a purely logical level, she knew that she couldn’t ever control everything, but what was the point of her faith, her magic, if she couldn’t at least protect the people she loved?

“You were hurt,” she said quietly, still looking at their hands. 

Marie sighed and stroked Zelda’s hair with her free hand, tucking a piece behind her ear. 

“I’ll be alright, though, yes? Your miraculous sister has healed me?” 

“Well. Hilda and I healed you,” Zelda allowed, meeting Marie’s eyes to see the beginning of a small spread across her face.

“You? But you are not good at healing spells are you?” Marie said, clearly holding back a laugh.

Zelda scoffed, smiling back. It was strange how talking with someone else made her feel more like herself, as long as that person was Marie. 

“I’ll have you know I was the most respected midwife in Europe for several decades. I am most certainly a good healer,” Zelda replied, pushing herself back to her feet.

“Oh?” Marie asked, smiling up at Zelda. “Why don’t you come down here and show me then?” 

Even lying bandaged in bed, in the nightgown saved from the donation bin, Marie was absolutely radiant. It was a very tempting offer. 

Zelda looked down at herself and sighed. It certainly would have been a more tempting offer if she hadn’t been absolutely covered in blood. Her hands and dress aside, it was matted in her hair, and she could even feel it drying in her ear. 

“I’m afraid I would ruin the sheets, ma cher.” 

“Oh, you hadn’t heard? There is a matching sleep set for this nightgown.” 

Zelda almost objected. She had very strong principles about wearing only silk nightgowns to bed, but she suddenly found that she didn’t care. She just wanted to be with Marie.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the French is translated the sentence after it's said but some of the smaller phrases are  
> mon dieu: my god  
> Comprende-vous?: do you understand  
> c'est impossible: that's impossible  
> je comprende: I understand  
> Let me know if there's any more I missed! Also I apologize if the French is horrible, it is entirely courtesy of Google translate.


End file.
